Tate Take 2
by BethanJFC
Summary: A new romance for Tate which exposes the dark secrets of the house.
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

As I walked into the room, I knew that he didn't want me anymore. Constance's protective face told me everything I needed to know. He was no longer mine; I wasn't part of the plan anymore. I saw them throw my things into the fire, I felt only regret, for things that could have been, or could have been different.

I had to go.

Chapter 1

1992

I walked into the new house with a mixture of apprehension and nerves. If I didn't like the house, my input would not be considered; both of my parents liked the house, and for them to agree was rare enough. We were getting this house whether I liked it or not.

The period features evoked a sense of old worldliness which I at first found quite unsettling but as I became more familiar with the surroundings, I realised it had a certain glamorous charm. It contrasted so starkly to our previous house that was a 'new build' - that was so new that we experienced all of the teething problems, meaning my mother threw a fit and we were gone after a mere two years. I guess you could describe us as 'serial movers' – if my mother's not happy with a house, we just up and leave. However this house looked like it was going to be different, I could tell just from the way our things fit in perfectly – objects like our old Morano glass lamp looking as though they had been made for the house. "It will be different this time", I thought, at least I was right about that.

I hesitantly moved up the stairs, divulging every small detail within the house until I found my room. I was shocked at the amount of things that I had brought with me from the old house – how much stuff I had. I found in one of the boxes, an old school book of mine with 'Emily loves Ryan' covering the front. Leaving it on the dressing table, I continued my search. The dust on the antique cupboards had not been touched for many years, making me wonder at the legitimacy of the housekeeper who had just arrived. As I assembled my chalkboard into the corner of my room next to the dresser, my foot hit sending it rolling underneath. Crouching to discover this trinket, I saw something shining from underneath the wardrobe which caught my interest. The rolling object would have to wait. My hand scuffed across the dirty floor whilst retrieving the object, my first feeling on observation was confusion. Its golden case; engraved "for you"; was unmistakable. It was a bullet.

2012

Reflecting back on the first few moments in the house unsettles me. I was so unaware of everything happening around me, the chaos that inhabited the house itself, and the demons that lived within. Now, I aimlessly search for absolution, and wander through memories almost forgotten; I realise that my search will be endless, and the absolution I seek, will never come.

1992

Dinner on the night of the move was interesting. It was one of the more lively interactions within the Jenkins' household. My father rattled off the details of the house from the estate agent's book, mentioning everything from the glass used in the partition windows, to the wooden floor we stood on. Unfortunately, my mother's restless sighs of disapproval interrupted his oozing pride surrounding his new possession. Apparently, we couldn't possibly call for a Chinese takeout, which was true because, not only did we have nothing to eat it off – the telephone hadn't been plugged in. The reasons that plagued my mother however, were due to dieting and unhealthy foods not going into my father's system. He'd had lung cancer and was lucky to still be alive. It had left a strain on him which meant that it was difficult to maintain any form of physical exertion for long and made almost all exercise impossible. The doctor's had recommended a healthy diet to keep him strong, and my mother being who she is went out and bought every "healthy" cookbook she could find and had plagued us with cabbage and spinach soups since.

"It just won't do."

Her brows were low on her face in frustration, a face me and my father were oh so familiar with. He walked over and kissed her brow until it lifted and her dimples were provoked into surfacing. That was the only thing I had inherited from my mother – two dimples.

We had Chinese takeout. Her love for chow mein outweighed her love for carrots and broccoli. Afterwards, I ambled back to my bedroom, still in awe of the strange presence the house exuded. The door to my bedroom was ajar, so as I walked through, my nerves were already primed for a shock, but what I saw was nothing I could have been prepared for.

He sat with his shoulders hunched forwards, his blonde curls sitting just above. His head tilted into his chest and his glacier eyes staring intently at the floor. My duvet bunched up under his fists where he tensely gripped it as a little boy would; stuck in a terrifying thought.

A gasp escaped my lips as I entered, betraying my presence. His head whipped round and I caught my first glimpse of his face. The features were not perfectly symmetrical, but held a sense of mystery. Defined cheek bones and a strong jaw bone, framed his face, while his mouth and nose, both intricately imperfect, filled the picture. The eyes were the focal point. Black in the dim light of my room, they inspected with an impenetrable gaze. They looked almost as shocked as I imagine I did.

How did he get into my room? What did he want? Who was he? These questions slipped from my mind as he arose from my bed and revealed his true stature. Tall – 6"1, much taller than me, invoking shivers of fear to rush up my spine. Broad, structured shoulders posed the body of a typical teenage boy at the peak of adulthood, but the fit of his jumper alluded to a more toned physique underneath.

He did not speak, but simply walked past me, causing my bones to become rigid and unmoveable, until my breath gusted out of me and I was left wondering if he was real. It wasn't until I had come back upstairs after causing a fuss, that I saw the chalk broken on the floor. On my chalkboard were the words, "for you, Emily", and on top of my schoolbook, lay the bullet.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Sleeping was difficult that night, which meant that I was sharp and irritable the next morning. We'd moved on a Saturday, which meant that I should have got a Sunday lie in, but with last night's events, I'd been in and out of unconsciousness. I awoke to my clothes left on the floor, ripped up paper and smudged chalk.

I tried to convince myself it was all a dream, which was very possible. I could have come up from dinner and fallen asleep – that would be the logical explanation, as on our search, we had not found anything or anyone in the house. I decided to put it out of my mind for later exploration.

I went shopping with my father for some clothes, while my mother and the new housekeeper arranged the house. I could tell by his slow and tired attitude to each item I chose, that he wasn't really in his element in shops like Abercrombie & Fitch, but we both knew it was better than being home with my mother who would have gone into a state of control freak by now.

By the time we'd got back, the Housekeeper's hours were over, and we found my mother putting the last fixes to the living room. To give credit where it was due, it looked amazing. All our antique furniture that had looked ridiculous in our previous house, blended in so well here. The hand stitched maroon rug in the middle of the floor gave the perfect impression of grandeur my mother sought for. A real genuine 1920's house; we belonged in flapper dresses, perfect ringlets dangling by our eyes, and my father in a dapper suit with a bowler hat. Then we would have fit in. My father and mother's gleeful embrace showed his clear approval, but I couldn't help but feel excluded somehow. I didn't belong in this pretentious environment, I feared I would spill something on the Persian rug, or knock over a 100 year old lamp. I didn't belong in this house.

My room had thankfully been left untouched for now, but I knew that while I was in school the next day, it would be assaulted. School. I had to go to school. I had enjoyed it back in New York, but now we were in California, which was so different - I was nervous. What if people didn't like me? I hated that I had to go through this again, but by now, I supposed, I should be used to it.

2012

Embarrassment is the strongest memory from my first day of school. They annihilated me, but at least they talked to me. I had people to talk to.

1992

The first Monday was excruciating; all those new faces staring at me, but they seemed to accept me well enough. There was no real drama to report, only the hideous moment where I walked into the boy's bathroom rather than the girl's. I knew that would come back to haunt me.

When I got home, my room had been raised to my mother's standards of living, and was therefore too much for me. Unfortunately, I had to leave it and act graciously, as I wanted to go to a party that weekend -someone from my English literature had invited me. On my way to the bathroom, a red ball rolled from behind me in the corridor and hit my foot. Hesitantly looking back, I saw nothing, and assumed it must be one of my old play things that my mother had yet to put into the attic…although I did not remember it.

In my dreams I saw the blonde boy. He was in my room, looking over my bed. When I blinked, his smiling face turned to a stern expression, and I saw the thick red liquid seep slowly through his jumper.

Again, school was uneventful, but I was making more and more friends. The blonde boy never left my mind. The dream had terrified me, and had resulted in me waking in a cold sweat. It was probably representing my fears of a new house, school and area? That's what I wanted to assume anyway. The rest of the week was similar, I dreamt of him every night.

It came to the night of the party. I was excited, but also nervous – it was my first public outing. As I got ready, softly curling my hair and applying make-up, I felt eyes on me. Ready to leave the house, I began my journey downstairs, when I saw him again. He was sat in the middle of the hallway, rolling a red ball into the darkness at the far end.

I stopped and approached him slowly.

"Hello?"

He turned his body towards me.

"Hello." He offered in return. His voice encouraged the images from my nightmares to flick into my mind. I wasn't quite sure what to do next.

"I'm Tate." Tate. I was hoping for an explanation as to why Tate was here, but he remained silent.

"Emily."

"Hi, Emily."

I didn't know what to do. My initial reaction was to run and call for help, just to prove my own sanity; but the prospect of talking to him for longer, beckoned and tempted me.

"What are you doing in my house?"

He simply smiled.


End file.
